


Steve and Tony

by orphan_account



Series: Stark Legacy [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Frottage, High School, M/M, Mention of Molestation, Reincarnation, Summer Vacation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, stark 5th generation, timeline-future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Anthony Stark Jr meets Steve Rogers for the first time, it's November 3rd, 2108(I was thinking, Tony reincarnated as Morgan's grandson finding a 'Steve Rogers' who's named after the famous Captain, who also look remarkably like him. Then I thought, why not add AI Tony Star Sr. too. So yeah, go crazy)





	Steve and Tony

**Author's Note:**

> there's a subtle mention of child molestation in here, with no explicit depiction of it. so i didn't put a warning, but if you feel like i should, just let me know.
> 
> smart-tap: like a smartphone but more specs
> 
> P:s// i suck at summaries in principle

The first time Tony sees Rogers, he’s got a bundle of crayons stuffed in his mouth and toilet water soaking his hair. He said he wouldn’t cry so he doesn’t. He’s good at following through his words after all.

Rogers is a tiny thing. A little taller than Tony but scrawnier so naturally Tony thought they share the age, but he’s proven wrong a couple of days later when he catches glimpses of blonde hair bouncing among figures taller than him, sturdier, and Tony thinks, oh. Rogers is either as smart as Tony is or puberty by-passed him.

It’s half a year later, during the school's annual science convention, is where they share their first words. Nothing too big, just a couple of ‘hey’ and a curt nods of acknowledgement. But when Tony went back home that evening, he hacks into the school's files and learns that his name is Steve Rogers, born on July 6th of 2093, a good two years older than Tony himself.

After that, the universe seems to think that this is its chance to spiral both of them together in a tornado of events.

At first, it was just the repeat of their first meeting. Tony, once again, same place, not exactly same time but this time around he gets a company and no crayon bundles in his mouth.

There’s Rogers, already stuffed with a ball of paper sitting defeatedly a top the closed lid of toilet bowl and here’s Tony getting shovelled in as the stall’s door slams close with a loud bang. The bullies must have thought it's smarter to have their victim and his rescue knocked down together.

Tony waits for the cackles to die before spitting out the crumpled paper at the closed door. His breathing takes a while to get back to normal but he’s still shaking violently from the time they groped at him so he sits with his back to the other occupant of the stall until his eyes stop blurring out on him.

When he finally manages to gather himself enough to turn around, he sees that Rogers’ got his own paper gag out and is already working on the tapes binding his wrists behind him. Just like those around Tony’s. Tight and sticky and Tony feels so sick he wants to vomit but he can’t. Not like this, he won’t.

“I’ll get yours after I’m done with mine.” Rogers promises, voice rough from being stuffed shut and Tony wants to snort because who the fuck does this guy think he is, going around saving people like that’s what he’s born for. But he doesn’t,  _couldn’t_ , because he’s already working on holding back the retching, he doesn’t need another addition to his to-do list.

Rogers does like he promised. He peels off those tapes, careful to not hurt Tony’s hand and Tony’s grateful for that. Incredibly grateful because the last time someone tied him up, he got bruises for a month after that. “You okay?” Rogers asks and Tony nods, springing to his feet as soon as the tapes are off and yanking at the door to let himself out. Out of the stinking stall, out of the toilet, out of everything if only he can.

God, he hates his fucking life.

 

The second time they meet, Rogers corners him at the school’s rooftop (his secret sanctuary) when Tony’s just about to exit it after a stolen moment to tinker with his holographic circuit board.

“You’re Anthony Stark Jr.”

Tony freezes. This is usually how they always begin. They recite his name to him then they capture him, try to torture him, then it's usually Rogers who helps him out (well as long as its within school's compound), but now that Rogers is the person  _behind_  the ambush, Tony doesn’t know how it’s going to play out this time around.

But then, Rogers says, “I’m Steve Rogers” and extends his right hand for a shake and Tony tightens his grip around his smart-tap.

He eyes the hand suspiciously, redirecting his attention back to Rogers when he chuckles. “I just want us to be friends.” He says mildly, as if it's that simple. Like a 15 years old scrawny kid befriending a 13 years old heir to the worlds’ most renown tech conglomerate is an easy task.

But Tony’s never seen easy. Almost all his life, he’s been taught to think twice before he does anything, to think through and through and to at least  _think,_ and he’s so damn tired of thinking, so he takes the bony hand in his and gives a timid shake.

The third time, the forth time and a dozen over times later are all a mish mash of calamities.

Tony never speaks and Rogers never asks. Effortlessly filling in all the gaps necessary between them. Most of the days they don’t talk. Some days, the bad days those are, Rogers will give a few directions, whether to avoid, escape or stay put and Tony listens. He doesn’t have to but he listens because Rogers has this command in his voice that makes it hard to disobey. Also because Tony wants to anyway. Because in the end when they’re both safe and Rogers looks at him, he smiles and pats Tony's head like he’s incredibly proud of them and Tony feels a warm bubble of good feelings in his stomach which he’s growing addicted to.

 

 

When Steve turns 17, it’s summer holidays so Tony isn’t physically there to wish him happy birthday. But he records himself in a holographic form and sends it to Steve smart-tap, nuzzling deep into grandma Morgan’s lap as he hides his burning cheeks when his own smart-tap pings with a miniaturized hologram reply from Rogers less than five seconds later.

“Send my best regards to your friend, darling.” Grandma Morgan says, her wrinkled lips quirking into a mischievous smile and Tony does his best to roll his eyes.  “You don’t even know who it is, grandma.”

In his room a little while later, he enlarges the message and watches with wide unbelieving eyes as holographic Steve – taller and buff, Jesus! How did that happen!?- says thank you with that same shy chuckle he gives Tony whenever Tony bothers to open his mouth and actually say something. “I wish you were here, Tony.” The holographic Steve says and Tony wishes with a deafening thud in his chest, that he was there too.

 

 

When summer holiday comes to an end and Tony gets back to school, he misses New York with grandma Morgan but he’s also too excited to see Steve that he’s buzzing with jittery nerves to see where he’s going.

“Uff.” He can’t say he didn’t expect it when he crashes into something solid, but the gentle and familiar way someone holds him, makes him jerk away with a staggering surprise. “Steve!”

“Hey, Tony.” And oh, god. Isn't it so unreal to see Steve like this. Tall, broad chest and very,  _very_   _real._

Just like that, they fall back into their usual plane, with lesser to no escaping the bullies, seeing that those asshats have graduated. Which opens opportunities to more 'friendly activities' but even then, they stick to the regular, happily. Each too soft and too quiet to be forthcoming for anything but they sense something solid in between them. Something unknown yet promisingly established and painfully palpable between them, which they ignore until they cannot anymore. 

It’s Steve who mentions it first.

“Ever heard of Iron Man.” He asks with exaggerated indifference to which Tony snorts, flipping open his smart tap and beginning from where he left before. “You mean, my great granddad?”

Steve swallows, changing the pen from his left hand to right – something which he does when he gets all tightly wound up – which Tony notes from the corner of his eyes and sighs.

“It’s okay. He’s famous. What do you want to know about him?”

Tony hears Steve tapping his smart-tap thrice with its pen before speaking again. This time, instead of the feigned indifference, there’s an actual uncertainty in his voice which makes Tony roll his eyes because honestly, there are nothing that he’s never been asked about Tony Stark Sr. and the whole Iron Man legacy so, Steve is just being a tad bit dramatic for no reasons here.

“Is it all true?” He asks finally.

Tony thinks, for all those nervous jitters, this is pretty anticlimactic question to ask. But he answers, nonetheless, drawing a lazy swipe across his smart-tap to make the ends of all the dispersed plates meet. “The Iron Man legacy? Pretty much, I think. Don’t ask me where the infinity stones are though, cause I don’t know. Honestly.” He shrugs flippantly. Grandma Morgan said uncle Steve replaced them all back but Uncle Steve was long dead before Tony could ask him himself so, that’s that.

“I was thinking about the Civil War.” Steve says, his voice still verging on that same uncertainty like he’s too afraid to wade through that particular water. Sure, Tony agrees that that particular piece is a big splotch of red on the whole superhero history, but that doesn’t mean that Steve has to make it sound so sombre cause fuck, it’s not like he was personally involved in it. “About Captain America and Iron Man.” He adds softly and Tony flips off his smart-tap to look at his friend.

“What about them?” Tony prods as gently, because if its anything he’s learnt from Steve in a year and half they’ve known each other, it’s to not belittle others’ emotions.

“Was it that bad?” Steve meets his eyes, his own clear blue ones shining bright, reflecting the autumn’s sun. “Did the Captain almost kill Iron Man? I know that they made up cause I’ve heard how the Captain and your grandma were close but I also heard about- urm… About… Man, I should probably never ask about this.” He rubs his forehead with his left palm, the right hand steady atop his smart-tap on his lap and Tony watches, allowing Steve to take all the time he wants as he himself sits up from his sprawled position on his own bench. (Technically it’s the school’s bench but there are two of them here and no one apart from Steve and Tony come here and they each have their own preferred one so they may as well dub each of them after themselves.)

“I’ve never met Uncle Steve.” Tony says, hoping this bit of tid-bit is enough to grab Steve’s attention from beating himself up and it does. “But grandma Morgan says that if I had, I’d love him more than her which… I doubt. But she insists and we’ll never know that considering that never happened so...” He frowns, not knowing where he's going with this, then shrugs when he feels Steve's eyes on him, trying for a smile as he heaves in a breath. There’s a reason why he hates talking in details about his family, of his great granddad and the whole superhero histories intertwined in his blood-relations. Each time, it makes him feel so lethargic, like his entire energy is drained out of him by simply retelling tales which his father or grandma has told him. Each time, he hates it just a little bit more.

But this is Steve, and Steve never looked more interested as he does now, so Tony takes another gulp of breath and shares that tiny little secret only close family knows. “Grandma Morgan said that it was Uncle Steve who suggested naming me after my great granddad. She said, it seems so natural and like the only next thing they’re meant to do so they did, but that the thought itself wasn’t there before Uncle Steve put it, you know what I mean?”

Steve nods. The smart-tap on his lap abandoned on the bench as he leans forward conspiratorially. “They say that the Captain loved Iron Man.” The instant he's said it, he back tracks urgently like it slipped past his defense. “I don’t mean that Iron Man didn’t love Rescue, I mean, it’s not even me, I mean, I heard the rumors and I – I’m sorry, Tony if it’s offensive. I didn’t mean to intrude.” And he’s back to scratching the back of his head, blushing furiously.

Tony lets out a relieved laugh, because for all that drama he thought Steve was going to say ‘I hate Iron Man’ which then again, wouldn’t be a problem because to each their own opinion and it’s not like Tony is Iron Man, but Steve, oh, Steve. “ _That’s_  what you wanted to ask about?” Tony chuckles. “If I’m offended by this, then I should get offended by so many cap-iron man shippers out there and trust me, I have no energy for that.” He shakes his head seriously before smirking. “But if you’re asking, I, truthfully, don’t know. However grandma Morgan has this theory about their love for each other being too volatile that they cannot be in each other’s presence without combusting.” He half shrugs. “Whether it was platonic or romantic, I think only great grandma Potts knows besides Uncle Steve himself and great granddad Tony but I don’t think she shared that with anybody. Not even grandma Morgan, I think.”

 

 

Tony isn’t stupid. At least not with an IQ of 209, no he doesn’t think he is. So, it doesn’t take that long (a couple of hours from their riveting conversation, give him a break, high IQ also needs time to think) for him to make the same connection Steve has probably already made when he asked Tony about Captain America and Iron Man, which explicitly explains why Steve had looked so nervous the entire time they tried to deduce various theories surrounding those two legends.

“It’s because of the shared name isn’t it!” Tony exclaims breathlessly, plopping stomach first onto his bed as he watches the breath catching in the holographic Steve. “Steve Rogers. Heck! You even have the same last name as Uncle Steve which I’ve been putting off as a coincidence considering the commonness of it but now I’m really curious.” He narrows his eyes mockingly. “Were you named after the Captain America, Steve?” He asks in a sing song, snickering as he toes at his own socked feet, slightly bouncing in his excitement at figuring out Steve and his 'Stevemotions' as Tony'd like to put it.

A petulant twist takes upon holographic Steve’s mouth, as his eyes narrow back in defiance in response to Tony’s teasing ones. “What? You can be named after Iron Man and I cannot be named after  Captain America.”

 _That’s different_! Tony wants to argue, because it is. Him being named Anthony Stark Jr has little to do with Iron Man and a lot more to do with his great granddad, Anthony Stark Sr. But the stubborn look set upon Steve’s face makes him give in and sigh. “Sorry.” He says reflexively, not knowing what he’s apologizing for.

Steve’s eyes soften almost immediately, “No, Tony. It’s, I-,” He stammers because why would they apologize? That’s not what this is about? What is it about again?

“Why did you ask about Captain America and Iron Man, Steve?” Tony whispers, feeling too fragile suddenly. Hoping he had closed his bedroom door before he plopped on the bed. Steve averts his gaze, swallowing and Tony feels an uncomfortable itch crawling up his back. The silence stretches and stretches until Tony thinks he cannot take it anymore so he opens his mouth but then, Mrs Rogers’s booming call for her son cuts through and shuts whatever’s been coagulating between them effectively down.

 

 

When they see each other back in school the next day, everything is back to normal, the whole burdensome superhero history is pushed back, forgotten or purposely avoided and it’s only Steve and Tony all over again, hanging at the rooftop during their breaks, one tinkering, the other doodling. It’s shared silence again, comfortable and heavy with something unknown yet enticing which they don’t mind because it has been like that all along.

Slowly, though. Slowly, the distance collapse. Four feet between the benches become none as Tony pulls it against Steve’s one day because the autumn wind was breaking his carefully styled hair when he’s sitting there so now they have more space for their bottoms and Tony no more feels edges digging at his sides when he lies on his back on the combined benches.

Slowly, though. Slowly, Tony’s head settles on Steve’s lap because the  _“end of the benches are biting my ass, Steve!”_ and slowly, Steve’s fingers are in his hair because at first  _“you've got a leaf in your hair, Tony”_  then, eventually no explanations but just strong hands closed in a mob of windswept raven hair because no explanations are needed anyway.

Slowly, though. Slowly, it’s winter biting into their bones and they have hot cocoas in their gloved hands and thick coats over their body but it’s so fucking cold!

“Let’s go somewhere else.” Steve says and until the spring breaks through, they spend the rest of their term in a private corner at the school library.

 

 

“Mom said you’re invited for the summer break.” Steve says one day, dropping his heavy backpack with a loud thud on the floor as he pulls back his usual chair and sinks into it unceremoniously.

Tony eyes the backpack accusingly (he still doesn’t understand why Steve carries so many heavy ass books when the smart-tap makes everything accessible to everyone anywhere.) then at Steve with the same intensity before the words actually sink in and he straightens up in his seat. “Oh?”

“Oh.” Steve gives him a lopsided smile, digging out his smart-tap and its pen from his pants’ pocket. “It will be fun.” He shrugs and Tony has no doubts of that. Summer with Steve. Of course it’s going to be fun. In fact, it’ll probably be the most fun he’ll ever have in his entire life. Which is great because this is their final summer before Steve starts college and Tony, his own intended break before starting at MIT so it's wonderful really. Final summer as high-schoolers spent in the best way imaginable. 

He grins widely. “I gotta check with my mum though. Usually, I spend the summers with grandma Morgan.” In his mind, he’s already thinking of all the things he’ll pack to the Rogers. All the things Steve and he can do. Maybe they’ll design something together. Maybe Steve will bring him to that lake he always talks about. Oh, oh! Grandma Rogers’ legendary cookies!

“We can split it. You can spend some time with grandma Morgan and maybe a fortnight with us. I was thinking a month but it’s up to you real-,”

“And you can come with me to grandma Morgan’s?” Well, now that’s a blossoming idea he's never thought of before.

“Oh?” Steve blinks, round eyed. “You sure?”

Honestly, Tony isn’t because that just came out of nowhere but now that he's said it, he can imagine it and damn him if he’s not going to grovel at everyone’s feet to make it happen. “I’ll check with mum and grandma but I’m pretty sure they’ll say yes.”

Steve gnaws his lower lip thoughtfully, eyes fixed on Tony. It’s like he knows what Tony just did and Tony wouldn’t put it past him to know either so he tugs on the stray hair behind his ear and shrugs. “I’ll work on it.” To which Steve huffs a laugh, shaking his head like he expects nothing less from Tony and Tony feels a ball of warmth spreading within his gut, joining Steve in laughing at his own expense.

 

 

When he brings up the subject to his mum, Mrs Stark is understandably worried. She doesn’t explain explicitly why but Tony is smart enough to read in between those lines on her face. She's afraid to see him go. The first time in forever, her child is leaving her clasp and she has seen enough tragedies in the family to face another one. 

It has been half a decade since his father passed away, but the memory is still fresh as if its yesterday.

He remembers the call his mother received when she was putting him to bed, the distant gasp and the sea of black the next day. He was too small, too young, his only pillar being his mom and grandma Morgan as he had clung onto them in turns as one guest after another came to stroke his cheek, clasp his tiny hand in theirs and say that he’s the next Stark legacy. The next Iron Man. Just because his dad had died saving the earth just like his great granddad did, they thought that he should be the next one in line. Get him sparkly and ready and shove him in an armour and put him out to fight. Fight for earth and die. Carry the legacy. Like damn fuck he won’t.

But that was then and now is where neither his mum nor grandma Morgan put such expectations on him. Now is where he knows that he doesn’t have to carry such weight of the legacy on his shoulders.

 _“I didn’t put on the armour. Uncle Harley did and he did a great job at it.” Grandma_  Morgan once told him when he asked in the dark, voice trembling in fear, the heat of all those hands on him burning like fire.

 

"It's not that I'm denying you your freedom, darling." She sighs, taking his hands in hers. "I'm just scared." She confesses. And Tony thinks, rightfully so, given the last time he spent nights away from his family, he was forcefully taken away from them. 

“I’ll be safe, mom.” He promises, patting her hand over his. "I have all the safety gears I need with me."

His mother chuckles, squeezing his hands. "Of course you do." Like she wouldn't put it pass him, and she shouldn't really. Tony is vigilant. 

 

Later that night, when she's caved in and said yes, Tony crawls into her lap and bats his lashes at her. "Mom," He drags the word, making sure he's as adorable as he can be to make her fall for his tricks. "Can I get Steve to come over too?"

It works easily, for his mother laughs, kissing his forehead and inhaling his scent. "Of course you should, darling." She smiles beautifully. "Anytime. However long he wants."

 

 

The lake, when Tony finally sees, isn’t as grand as Steve has made it sound like. It’s simple at most. Beautiful, yes. A giant picture of a large dark blue lake surrounded by a clearing of weeds, mosses, slippery stones and more weeds. But that’s alright, because Tony likes weeds and he loves simple so they pretty much made it for him.

“I thought it was going to be like the one in Hogwarts.” He observes, to which Steve asks. “You don’t like?”

“No, no.” He says. “This is much perfect. Less grandeur and more quiet.”

Steve snorts, dumping their picnic supplies right where he stands as if they can claim whichever spot they want and call it theirs. May as well be because they’re the only one there. “I don’t know how Hogwarts’ lake can be classified as grandeur -,”

“It has a giant squid in it!” Tony exclaims, ready to beat through any banters about the Potter world. Steve likes Tolkien but then again the guy wouldn’t know a wizard if he walks pass them.

“Okay, Potterhead.” Steve chuckles, hand going immediately to Tony’s head, ruffling his raven locks affectionately. “Whatever floats your boat.”

And that by itself ensues another one of their – more Tony’s than Steve and him combined – passionate discussion over the century old classic literature – almost two, in Steve’s case.

 

They don’t do much by the lake. In a way, the lake and many other places they’ve visited during Tony’s stay with the Rogers’, were simply an extension of their school’s rooftop. With background changes that is, which is undeniably cool because with every venue change, Steve’s drawings change and Tony, while it may not be his designs that change, gets new bouts of inspiration out of them. Sometimes, it’s just calming. Like the lake.

When the afternoon breeze hits them, it’s not as scalding hot as it would have been in the city. It’s perfect. Everything’s perfect. And Tony may have to admit that he’s vocabulary is shutting down, as well as his entire brain with how dazed and fuzzy he feels, all warm and lazy and perfectly content.

He rolls his head on Steve’s lap to take a look at what he’s drawing and their eyes meet by accident. Tony smiles, loopy and wide, maybe his teeth shows, maybe they don’t he couldn’t give a care in the world at all. Steve’s fingers in his fair tighten by a fraction and he responds akin. No teeth, but that’s alright, Tony thinks. Though he really loves Steve’s teeth. They’re straight and white and pretty, just like Steve.

“You can nap if you want. I’ll wake you up if it gets late.” Steve murmurs, his voice deeper than when they first met and Tony feels the vibration through his chest through his hand splayed across Steve’s stomach. This feels usual but there’s something else in there that Tony can’t quite point at. Regardless, Steve’s words must work a miracle for when he next blinks, it’s two shades darker and the air is much colder.

He realizes that he’s fallen asleep atop Steve. Head, now on his stomach while Steve himself is sprawled with no care under him, head cushioned over his faithful backpack. His notepad which he’d exchanged for his usual smart-tap now lies abandoned near Tony’s waist, pages after pages flapping in the wind. It’s by no means but pure accident that his eyes decipher what they see. And when they do, he’s already sneaking a silent hand to grab at the note pad for a closer look.

It’s filled to brim with sketches, as expected, since Steve has been spending a lot more time with it than with his smart-tap. But that’s not what caught Tony’s eyes. No, it wasn’t the trees, or the roads. Not the buildings or the fare they went to. No, not the cats or the lonely dog caught among them. Not even the blue hydrangea Steve’s mum waters religiously every morning. It was his face. Tony’s face.

There.

Pages after pages of them. Not all but pretty much all. Some with just his face, some with his entire figure. Some stops past the shoulders. Some goes below his hips and Tony’s caught in a bubble of emotions.

He’d never asked to see Steve’s sketches. Just like Steve never asked about his designs. But that don’t mean that they hide them. In fact, they were many times when Steve’s seen parts of Tony’s designs and Tony has seen Steve draw or doodle or sketch. It’s just never been… Formal. No, “Hey, can I see work?” And this seems like one of those times Tony should have made it formal.

Because this – running his fingers down his face shaded in graphite- this feels very intimate, and intimate means Tony’s intruding. Trespassing Steve’s boundaries and Tony doesn’t want to be that jerk but it’s him. It’s his face. His eyes. His shoulder and his body. Then, why does it feel like he’s the perpetrator?

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before I drew you.” Steve breaks Tony’s careful silence and Tony jerks so aggressively, he drops the notepad and elbows Steve on his side while trying to get away from Steve. “Ow. I think this should settle for punishment.” He hisses, half propping himself, trying to put pressure to where its sore.

Tony’s head is still heavy with what he’d just seen so he doesn’t come around so quickly. When he does, Steve’s fully seated, facing his side and he’s eyeing him like he’s afraid. “Tony?” He calls tentatively. “Are we- you.” He drops, scrunches his nose in distaste at his own loss for word then he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

 _Why do you draw me so many times_ , Tony wants to ask.  _What’s about me that makes you sketch me again and again, Steve? What do you like?_

_Do you like me?_

“It’s okay.” He shrugs instead, expressions carefully mustered to put Steve at ease. “You can keep drawing me, I don’t mind.” Because he truly doesn’t but, he really wants to know why.

 

 

When Steve brings Tony to his grandma's place. It's one of those perfect summer day when the sun is not so hot, the wind is just right and the humidity is considerably low enough to not drench them in sweat.

Grandma Rogers lives alone, keeping a walking distance from Steve's parents' place, safe enough to reach one another in cases of emergencies. "She likes her quiet." Steve explains when Tony asks why don't they just live together. "Thinks she'd be imposing my parents." He chuckles, shaking his head fondly, remembering something Tony's a stranger too. 

When he finally meets grandma Rogers, Tony understands why Steve always seem exasperated when he recalled her. He makes a mistake of asking her why she doesn't move in with Steve's parents and the old lady huffs, waving a wrinkled hand in dismissal. "I don't want to witness my daughter going at it like a rabbit, handsome. As much as my deviance goes, it has to stop at there." 

Tony's ears buzz with blood and his face burns as Steve yells, "Nana!" at her. After that, he takes it upon himself to never ask her any questions, sticking to simply listening and watching Steve have a go with her as he watches from the side, sipping on his tea with bites of the best chocolate chip cookies in world in between. 

When the evening falls to night, Steve kisses his grandma goodbye. Tony fidgets with his hands as he stammers one himself but the old woman pulls him into a tight hug with a surprising strength and kisses his temple. "You take care of yourself, young man." She pats his chest. Her striking blue eyes glints at Steve before she squeezes Tony's hand and leans in to whisper scandalously. "I know how you young people think we oldies are clueless but if you need any advice on  _that_ department, I'm always willing to help you and Steve." Loud enough to make Steve give another horrified shout of 'Nana!' and Tony's too giddy with pure affection for this lady that he laughs and laughs all the way back to Steve's home. 

 

 

One night at the Rogers, the storm hits so hard, Tony crawls into Steve’s bed.

He’s shaking all over, hair plastered over his forehead as if he’s been out there in the rain when he hasn’t. And he asks, voice trembling in the dark nearing a pitiful whimper, “Steve? Steve, can I sleep here tonight?”

Steve doesn’t ask a question. Says, “Oh god, Tony. You’re shaking like mad” and Tony wants to laugh because that phrase never made sense but he couldn’t so, he lets Steve pull him closer, wrap his blanket tight around both of them and he can feel Steve’s skin burning against his cheek. Steve must be in furnace when they’re wrapped like that, but Steve doesn’t budge. His arms firm around Tony all through the night and even when their breaths even out, even when the thunder stops rolling and the lighting stops flashing, Tony can never shut his eyes.

“When I was eight, I was kidnapped.” Tony confides in the dark. It’s like telling no one but he knows that Steve’s listening because his fingers clutch tighter at Tony’s shirt. Tony’s never spoken of it to anyone, never talked out about it, or in any manner, has he ever let that particular memory roll out of his tongue and slip out his mouth in words. Never at all. So, saying ‘I’ and ‘kidnap’ in the same sentence is like a shotgun firing at his chest, he has to take a deep breath. Look down at his chest to see if there’s a big splotch of red on it or not.

There isn’t. Only Steve’s hand, as big as the imagined shotgun wound, splayed protectively over him. Holding.

“It took my dad three days to find me.” He says, mouth moving numbly around the words as he stares ahead at the window. Raindrops splattered beautifully against them. Steve would love to draw that, he thinks. “Two nights.” He whispers. His breath hitching. “There was a guy in that group.” Why does he keep talking? “He- He, I. Urm. He did,” His chest prickles awfully, his throat burns and he can hear Steve faraway, hushing him.

“It’s okay, Tony. Shhh.”

But now that it’s out, everything wants to come out. Tony’s lost all control against it.

Steve is brave enough for them. He listens. Asks Tony to breathe. Hushes him when his chest muscles tremor and holds tightly when Tony shakes violently in their cocoon. Tony feels so safe but so violated at the same time as he lets all past his defense. All those times his grandma, his dad and his mum - All those times the authorities pestered him about what happened, now he’s confiding them to Steve.

All those disgusting hands. The filthy smell. The horrible way the guy made of him. And he deserves the way he died. He deserves the way his dad’s repulsor shot at him. Deserves the way he hit the wall with a sickening thunk and went limp. Tony’s never seen dead until then but when he finally did, he’s disgusted at himself for thinking they deserved it.

When the skyline shifted and a little blue peeped through, Tony’s been silent for an hour in Steve’s hold. He’s too spent and exhausted to move. Too tired to think of what Steve means when he wipes Tony’s damp curls up his forehead and pulls him closer to his chest. When he buries his nose into the crook of Tony’s neck and kisses him there.

 

 

August brings Steve to Tony’s abode.

Two nights with Tony’s mom and the rest of the month with grandma Morgan. Tony’s so excited for Steve to finally meet grandma Morgan, that he can barely contain it.

“You’ll love her!” He yells once again. The wind howling as their Audi zooms past a canola field. The flowers are on full blossom. Bright yellow under the summer sun and Tony can’t help but admire how Steve looks in that backdrop. One word; stunning.

He keeps turning back to Steve. Each time a different kind of smile and Steve doesn’t seem like he minds, ruffling Tony’s overgrown curls when they meet eyes for the tenth time. “Yellow suits you.” He says loudly over the rustling wind and Tony wants to yell back,  _That’s my line_  at him, but he doesn’t because Steve really looks at him like he means it.

Tony catches Steve’s hand and intertwine their fingers. Touching having become second-nature between them during the extended time spent together. Steve lets him as he flips it over and card their fingers together again. Smiles as Tony squeezes hard and he squeezes back, running a thumb in a soothing circle at the back of Tony’s hand.

On impulse, he wants to bring them to his lips and kiss the back of Steve’s hand. On impulse, he wants to crawl onto Steve’s lap and card his fingers through his blonde hair. Feel those scruffs on dark blonde facial hair over sharp angled jaw. On impulse, he wants to close that space between their faces and breathe into a tinier one. On impulse, Tony wants to kiss Steve’s lips and feel him kiss back.

On impulse.

_I like you, Steve. I like you._

 

 

Grandma Morgan gasps when she sees Steve for the first time. It’s very odd considering it’s not a pleasant,  _oh look at you handsome_ , gasp like his mother did but more of a surprised,  _oh my god_ , kind of a gasp.

Then she shakes it off so easily to grab Tony in a tight hug and Steve in as tight of a hug as Tony’s was. Her surprise vanishes just like that but Tony doesn’t miss all those glances she gave Steve’s way and long lingering looks at Tony as well.

“What?” He asks, laughing, as he puts away the dried plate, when grandma Morgan gives him another intense look.

She shakes her head with a small smile, almost like she doesn’t want to tell him why, but she looks at him again and she says, “You’re looking more and more like my father as you grow up.” Her wrinkled eyes glimmer in the dark.

That’s something, Tony thinks. Because he doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s heard so much about his great granddad's greatness, wished so many times that he’d had met him but that didn’t happen and he feels its unfair to judge a character just by stories so when grandma Morgan says something like that, she puts him in an uncomfortable position.

“I don’t know how to feel about that.” He says honestly. His teenage voice has broken to an adult rasp in a year they’ve last met and the rasp in it surprises her as much as it sometimes still surprises him.

“You don’t have to feel anything. It’s just an observation.” She says.

When he catches her looking at him with one of those long looks again, he thinks of what she had said and he thinks, maybe. Maybe grandma Morgan misses her dad.

 

 

But when it comes to Steve, it’s unexplainable.

What can grandma Morgan think when she looks at Steve like that? Does Steve remind her of someone too?

When he asks her that, she laughs and doesn’t answer. Tony feels so put out that he cannot help but pout as he watches Steve chat excitedly with Uncle Pete from his grandma’s lap.

Uncle Pete or who Tony likes to privately call, old-Spidey, neither looks old nor acts like one. He’s almost a decade older than grandma Morgan, but because of his spider bite, he doesn’t age like normal people do. When he visits, he always brings exciting tales of his crime-busting adventures which Tony would die for when he was younger, but as time passed, he grew less interested in adventures and more interested in the way the laugh lines on Uncle Pete’s face faded.

Auntie MJ passed away two decades ago. Since then, Uncle Pete never remarried, but Tony’s heard some rumors flying around recently about his new flame, a human torch, they say, and he can’t deny that he’s pretty interested in that. He hopes to high skies that its true because if it's anything by what he’s seen so far, he’s learnt that superheroes’ life are tough. He cannot bring himself to imagine how he’d feel to age as slowly as Uncle Pete. To watch his beloved die and survive that. Tony will hate that.

When Steve’s done interrogating Uncle Pete, Tony gets his chance at the dinner table.

“Woah, Tony!” Uncle Pete exclaims for the umpteenth time that day. He can be stupid like that. “You look so much like Mr Stark!” He says at the same time Tony recites the exact dialogue but in a flatter tone.

Steve snorts inelegantly while grandma Morgan dumps a pile of salad onto Uncle Pete’s plate. “Morgan!” He complains and the way his grandma sticks her tongue out like a child is only a sight reserved for when Uncle Pete is around.

Tony meets Steve’s eyes and they both decide to hide their laughs in the crook of their elbows. “And you look exactly like Captain America!” Uncle Pete booms, and Tony chokes on his breath.

“What?” He asks, or tries, still busy coughing as he looks from Uncle Pete to Steve. The way that Steve colors pink high in his cheeks tells Tony that this isn’t the first time he’s hearing this.

So that’s why grandma Morgan looks at Steve the way she does. How peculiar indeed.

 

 

“You don’t have to come.” Steve says for the third time.

They’re at the entrance of the Museum of Modern Art. Steve’s an artist thus, Tony never thought twice before purchasing a pair of tickets for them to visit it. He’s always talked about how MoMA is his favourite art museum.  _Will never grow tired of it,_  he said so, Tony thought,  _why not?_

“You’re not getting rid of me now.” Tony bumps their shoulders, hunching over so his collar covers all the way up to his jaw. He can sense stares like Steve smells pizza from a mile away.

“I don’t want to get rid of you. I just don’t want you to put yourself through something that you don’t like.”

At the tip of his tongue, Tony wants to say  _Don’t be stupid. I like you therefore I like whatever I do with you._

At the tip of his tongue, he wants to say  _I like you so much I’ll eat all the brussels sprouts for you. And that’s a huge deal because you know how I wish brussels sprouts are extinct._

Instead, he says, “Just buy me an ice cream or something after.”

 

In front of a new art piece by a new artist called something, Steve says something that Tony’s so lost in his brain he has to resurface and ask _, “What?”_

Steve laughs, and his fingers catch at the hem of Tony’s sleeve in a way that assures Tony that he’s not mad at him. Which is a good thing, because lord knows Steve’s been on a roller-coaster of a mood in the last three days. Shifting fleetingly from happy to gloomy in a blink of an eye.

“I said, thank you for doing this.” He gives a light tug at where his long fingers stay curled around Tony’s sleeves. Tony smiles dreamily, mind still hazy with calculations and figures and he responds, “Anything for you.”

In retrospect, he doesn’t realize what he’d said until they’re at the next exhibition. But it doesn’t matter because Steve’s still by his side and if it’s anything to console his panic with, Steve seems to have a wide smile etched permanently to his face now.

 

The ice cream doesn’t happen because the sky starts to rumble threateningly and clouds hovers angrily so they took covers at a nearby café. It’s pretty sparse for its strategic location and Tony’s not going to complain because this is way better than he can ask for. Steve orders two mugs of hot chocolate and it’s absurd to even think of that in the summer but today’s special, Tony muses as he takes a careful sip of it.

When the rain comes, it’s quiet and calm, almost lulling them into a weird state between alert and drowsiness. They watch, with their hands around their warm mugs, burrowing into the strange comfort surrounding them and for the first time, Tony notices, neither of them got anything out to work with. He knows that Steve has both his smart-tap and his notepad with him just like Tony has his own smart-tap with him. It’s only the matter of getting them out and setting to work, but Tony finds that he doesn’t want to. He finds the pitter patter of New York rain with Steve beside him and the contrasting chillness of the café compared to the summer heat outside, are all he wants right then.

With Steve’s arm plastered against his, his warmth and his mere presence, close and solid beside Tony, is all that he wants and need.

 

 

Summer means swimming and swimming means getting half naked.

At the Rogers, they didn’t have a chance, since there were no beaches nearby and the only place that came remotely close to a pool was the lake and Tony was not going to jump into that when even Steve was skeptical about what’s in there. Therefore, chlorinated luxurious pool up New York sky scraper it is, then.

“Why does grandma Morgan live here?” Steve asks conversationally, rolling his head back so it touches the edge of the pool as he stays fully immersed in it. He’s taken to calling grandma Morgan as grandma Morgan like Tony does and Tony’s not one for arguing against that. “Not that it’s not a great place but it just doesn’t seem to make sense for someone like her to retire in a city, you know.”

Tony tries hard to keep his stare minimal, what with being in company of an exceptionally great looking, Roman-god-like-physique, of one handsome Steve Rogers who’s almost naked except for his swimming trunk. But it’s been a long day and Steve’s doing that thing where his neck looks so long and edible Tony wants to lick a stripe and sink his teeth in there. His facial scruffs now grown into a neatly trimmed beard that make Tony's thoughts linger too long around the phrase; 'beard burn', it hurts.

“It’s her dad’s property. She’s got a soft spot for it.” He sighs wistfully, threading fingers through his damp curls and painfully shifting his gaze from what he wants to what is safe. Oh look, the sky is blue.

“Oh.” He hears Steve say. Then it’s quiet for sometime and Tony has almost cracked what the clouds look like when Steve speaks again. “Do you think Mr Parker was telling the truth when he said I look like Captain America?”

“Grandma says I’m looking more and more like my great granddad.”

It’s an honest slip out. He wasn’t meaning to share that piece of information but something about the Captain made him think of Steve’s old question about the relationship he shared with Iron Man and he just blurted out. 

“Oh.” Steve says again. He’s thinking. Tony can hear the cogs and wheels in his brain whirring and it’s loud and louder and Tony doesn’t want to hear it anymore.

Luckily Steve abandons the topic. “Wanna do another lap and try to beat me?”

Tony groans. He’s so tired from the six laps they did already. “I’m gonna pass out and you’re going to be responsible for it.” He threatens emptily.

Steve’s much closer when he speaks next, startlingly closer that Tony has to grip hard at the pool's edge to not lose his buoyancy in the water. “I’ll carry you to safety, no worries.”

There are thousand things in Tony’s head that he wants to say in conjunction to that statement. His imagination runs wild when he even allows himself to think of their naked chests together. The amount of skin contact if Steve carries him and that by itself makes him feel faint.

Steve pulls at his wrist, tugs him in his direction, and Tony know that they’re heading back to the starting point for another lap. Knows it like a hum in the back of his head while the front is aching with the way Steve looks at him, all piercing blue eyes, as he carefully guides Tony to where he wants without any sliver of their skins touching.

Oh, but Tony yearns.

 

 

On 14th of August, Tony has the brightest idea to sneak into the basement.

“Grandma wouldn’t know. She’s away to Paris for the weekend.” He assures Steve. “Besides I’ve been here before.”

“I didn’t know a tower has a basement.” Steve mutters, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves out of nerves. Tony taps his hand away. “This one does.”

When the elevator door opens and the glass door asks for his imprint, Tony hesitates. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks. “I thought you’ve been here.”

Well he has. Only that he was four years old and playing hide and seek with Uncle Pete then. Uncle Pete has an access to the workshop therefore he brought Tony in, without needing an imprint. But now, there’s no Uncle Pete around and Tony’s not so sure whether he’ll be allowed in here. However he rather set the security alarm off than admit that to Steve hence, he places his thumb over the scanner.

“Welcome, Anthony Stark Jr.” Someone says and Tony’s aware of their resident AI, FRIDAY, but this is not FRIDAY.

He’s as startled as Steve when something whirs towards them in urgency.

“Fear not, younglings. That is just DUM-E. He gets overexcited around companies.” The voice informs helpfully and Tony feels creeped out by the familiarity of it.

“Do I know you?” He asks mildly, as Steve pets a one-armed bot, which is enjoying it immensely by the way it clicks and clacks at Steve, seeking his personal space and it’s lucky that its Steve. Tony would probably step away but Steve is a sucker for adopting all things and everything.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” The voice asks in a mock astonished tone and Tony rolls his eyes. It’s very snarky for an AI. There must be some customized improvements coded to its system because even FRIDAY, with all its long lived age and decades for learning, lacks the character this one has. And if its knowledge of who Tony and Steve are is of any telling, it must have direct access to all information which FRIDAY has.

Steve snorts beside him, one hand still atop the clingy bot and Tony gives back as good as he got. “Of course I’m talking to you. For an intelligence, you’d think that would be obvious.”

A hurt gasp echoes through the place and Steve whacks Tony in the back of his head. “You hurt him.” He whispers. “Apologize.”

Tony’s one word from retaliating when the AI goes of again. “Why, I thought it was only the look that’s strikingly similar but I see that you’ve got the attitude as well. Mr. Rogers.”

Something about that tone sounds like a nod of acknowledgement at Steve and Steve the ever polite old soul, nods back with a shy ‘thank you’, to which Tony snickers.

“I must say, you have the gall of a Stark to trespass here, Anthony.” The AI muses loudly – which is another unusual trait for an AI system – and effectively cuts out any humour in the air.

Steve’s the first to speak. “We’re incredibly sorry. We’ll see ourselves out. Please don’t tell grandma Morgan.”

Tony thinks it’s a waste, asking an AI to keep a secret from its creator, but when the AI responds, he has to eat his own thoughts.

“I said it was gall, Mr. Rogers. It means I’m impressed. I assume, Anthony convinced you that he’s allowed in here of course. Otherwise, I doubt a man of your morality would have followed him.”

Morality?

Tony can feel Steve closing in beside him, and a few seconds later, there’s a hand gripping hard at his wrist. He knows what Steve’s thinking. He’s thinking the same too. What is this thing?

“However, I must admit that I’m feeling something equivalent to great pleasure to see young Anthony here once again. Therefore, I shall grant your request for secrecy.”

Again? “Have we met before?” Tony asks, his mouth going dry. Nothing about this sound remotely normal.

“You’ve been here once, May 29th of 2099, as I recall.” The voice answers as if it’s obvious and Tony honestly has no memories of his interaction with it. In fact, the familiarity that’s nagging him is not from this timeline. Instead…

But… That can’t be. He’s only hear him from the videos but- No. He must be wrong, because if not then why hasn’t anyone told him before? Does mom know? Who else-

“Something bothering you, Anthony?” The voice quips and Tony swear he can hear a smirk there. “If you haven’t figure it out yet, I’m going to have to ask Morgan to leave you out of the will.”

“No shit.” Tony claps his mouth. “What?” Steve asks in hushed tone but all of his braincells are blowing out from what he’s seeing. Hearing, more accurately. “You’re grandma’s dad.” He gasps, hardly believing his own words. “My great granddad, Tony Stark. The Iron Man. The AI is coded after him!” He babbles at Steve, excitement almost crippling all his other senses.

“But, how? I mean why. Wait, the how first.”

He can hear the brightness in the voice when it answers. Almost like a laugh. Maybe pride. “ _How?_ ” Tony allows himself to imagine that as an aghast tone. Then, “I didn’t breed an idiot, that’s how. Morgan is smart. Smarter than I ever was, but if I hear any wisp about you sharing that with her, I’ll tell her that you went against 11006 security rules of this tower, trying to break in here. The why, I’d suggest you ask your nana in details, but as far as I understood, you have always insisted to have little to nothing to do with the armour. Therefore, I think it’s safe to assume that Morgan has only been abiding by your emo-teen-angst spired wish.”

“So what? You think I should follow your stupid legacy and put on the armour and go die like my dad did? Is that what you want?” Tony lashes out, the deep seated hatred in him spiralling like a hurricane. Next to him, Steve squeezes his wrist.

“ _That_ is not what I meant and you’re clearly still blinded by anger so no matter what I say from here on, we’ll be having less of a polite conversation and I’m detecting 65% possibility of you scaring away young Mr Rogers here by trashing this place out of spite.”

“Tony doesn’t scare me.” Steve speaking up. At some point, he’s shifted so he’s in front of Tony.

“Of course not, Mr Rogers. If you’re anything like the other Rogers I know, it will take more than an apocalypse to scare you away.”

There’s an odd fondness in there that intrigues Tony. But before he has any chance to ask, the tiles beneath them start shifting backwards to the exit, almost like a treadmill and both Tony and Steve grab hold of one another, shocked by the sudden motion.

“Unfortunately, as riveting as our meeting had been, Mr. Rogers, - reunion, in yours and mine, Anthony – I have to see you both out before Morgan makes it up to the penthouse. After all, its _you_ who requested for the secrecy.” And just like that, the glass door closes in front of them, shutting away what, astonishingly, had been an AI programmed after Tony’s great granddad.

“Oh my god.” Steve murmurs and Tony has to concede. “Oh my god.” He nods.

 

 

For all the questions broiling within him, Tony doesn’t dare to bring them to grandma Morgan.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Steve chuckles above him. “Gnawing on your lower lip like you do when you can’t figure something out.”

Tony huffs, deliberately sucking in his lower lip before letting go. The TV is on but neither of them are watching. Steve’s busy with his notepad while Tony was busy with his new motor design until the memory of his great granddad’s voice started sneaking in and he’d lost track.

“What is it?” Steve sighs, abandoning the notepad to look at Tony on his lap. His fingers run through twice in his hair and Tony sighs, nuzzling into the touch. “It’s that AI, isn’t it?” Steve murmurs, and Tony nods, brows furrowing in both petulance and frustration. They’ve had this conversation countless times since their venture. Steve has always insisted on the most obvious thing, which was to ask grandma Morgan, which is also the only way to ever solve this huge-ass riddle but-

“You really think she wouldn’t be mad that we trespassed?” He pouts at Steve. At this point, he’s just looking for any excuses to put off the inevitable and Steve isn’t a stranger to that particular trait of his.

“You heard what he said. She just kept you out of it because you didn’t want -,”

“Anything to do with the legacy.” Tony sighs, wiping down his face in a defeated huff. “I still don’t.”

Steve hums understandingly. “You said that your grandma didn’t put on the armour right? That it was-,”

“Uncle Harley, yeah.”

“So…,” Steve trails, a knowing smile licking at his lips and Tony wants to kiss it. Still wants to kiss him. Never stopped wanting that. God.

“So, you think it’s not about putting on the armour.” He murmurs, eyes fixed on Steve’s lips.

Steve snorts a laugh. “If what I think _even_ matters, it’s my personal opinion that it’s less about following through the legacy and more about _accepting_ your legacy.”

“Oh.” Tony says. He’s never thought of it like that. “And who said what you think don’t matter.” He flicks at Steve’s nose, pulling a booming laugh. “It always does.” He murmurs fondly, and Steve’s brilliant smile is worth all the courage it takes for Tony to say something like that.

 

 

One night, during dinner, he just blurts it out.

“I’m just going to give that call my mom asked to- Urm.. yeah.” Steve excuses himself out, leaving Tony in privacy of his grandmother. Tony will thank him later, but for now-

“You went to the workshop.”

Tony drops the pretense of following through dinner, putting down the fork and knife. “I -yeah. I thought I wouldn’t be able to access it but-,

“Of course you’d have the access, darling. You’re a Stark.”

“Uncle Pete has access too” If technicality is the matter…

Grandma Morgan laughs. “He’s a Stark too, Tony. Always has been way before I was.” She says with an easy shrug and Tony huffs a laug, relaxing into the conversation.

“So you’ve met the AI.” She says, wiping her mouth and pushing away her own plate. “How do you feel about it.”

“He’s snarky.” Tony complaints, right from on top of his mind. Grandma Morgan chuckles, humming affirmatively. “You coded him after your dad.” He says softly, watching how her smile shifts from a wide one to a smaller wistful one.

“I did.” She admits. “I missed him. Your Uncle Pete missed him. The world missed him, and I- I thought, it was only the right thing.”

“Do you regret it?” Tony asks, because she doesn’t exactly sound proud of what she did. There seems like a story in there somewhere.

Grandma Morgan eyes him carefully. Then she says, “You know how trial runs go? It’s not always immediate success all the time, and even in that 50% chances, they are, it will never be-,”

“Perfect.” Tony breathes. “Yeah. Yeah, I know trial runs.” He nods.

Grandma Morgan smiles a sad smile but doesn’t elaborate. Personally, Tony doesn’t think he’s ready for the full story either. He only wanted to know the essentials and the present. The past is whole other shit-hole he’ll tackle another time. Maybe.

“I didn’t want to scare you.” She says after sometime. Her smile gone and her eyes big and brown, demanding his attention. “You must understand that. I never intended to hide you from this part of- From this part of my world.” She amends her words and Tony listens, although he wants to say, _I know. It’s not you but me._

“When you lost your father, you were so young and I remember how it felt to be in that position. The anger and the hatred. I’m not claiming that I know you better than you do, darling, no, never. I simply tried to put myself in your shoes and I thought- Darling, I only wanted to give you time. Let all your anger ebb away and I thought maybe this year. Come every summer, I start it by thinking that maybe this year, maybe this summer, but every time, Tony, I was afraid I will lose you. But it was never my intention to keep it away from you forever.”

“You’ll never lose me.”

“No, now I know that. But I was terrified, darling. The revelation of that AI was never a story of sweet success. People said so many things about it. Half of the world hated me, because oh, the catastrophe that those- Those _trial runs_ caused. There were no pretty history, Tony.”

“But he didn’t seem dangerous when we interacted. Sassy, yes. But not lethal-,”

“No, no, of course not. The one in the basement is the perfected form. It functions with more balance than its precursor’s. But that doesn’t mean that people forgot. There’s a reason why it’s only in the basement, darling.”

Then it dawns him like a ice cold splash of water. “You’re running him illegally!”

The begging eyes says it all and Tony wants to be angry at her. For being selfish. For going against the law to keep something that’s deemed as threatening to the humanity but _he cannot_. With all those wrinkled lines and big brown eyes and sad smiles, he cannot. And he thinks he understands why.

“You miss him.” He says. Swallowing as Grandma Morgan gives a watery smile.

“Very much.” She mouths quietly.

 

 

Ten days before Steve’s visit ends, Tony brings him to the Avengers memorial.

“I think I dug a wormhole.” He confides to Steve. “I asked her about the AI-,”

“You blurted it out.” Steve snorts, kicking a pebble in his way.

Tony bumps his shoulder. “Sounds like the AI has a grimy history in itself.”

“Did she tell you.”

“I didn’t ask.” He shakes his head.

Steve’s arm presses warmly against his, “Too much?” He murmurs softly and Tony nods. Steve’s arm loops around his elbow and he pulls Tony to a stop. “Do you _want_ to know?” He asks, blue eyes peeking from beneath long lashes, squinting against the sun and Tony inhales a sharp breath in.

“I do.” He admits. Because maybe it’s time he stops running. “Just not now.” He smiles at Steve, wiping away a stray strand that catches the wind and falls int his eye, and Steve smiles back, letting go of Tony’s elbow and he misses him immediately.

“Good.” Steve says, tugging at his sleeve and leading them over to the statue of Black Widow. The wind howls threatening, but the sun is so blinding that Tony doubts a single drop of rain will fall on them.

 

Steve is full of excitement. He talks as much as he asks. Tony learns how Steve grew up adoring the Avengers. “The original six”, he says, and Tony smiles at the way his blue eyes light up. It’s a pretty normal story. After all, all kids grow up on Avengers. They’re the superheroes who saved the universe after all. But for Tony, this is Steve, and nothing about Steve can ever be normal for him.

_Because I like you. More than friends should._

So he listens to Steve ramble, on and on about each one of them and he answers when he’s asked. Gladly, giving in some trade-secrets like; “Uncle Thor is rebuilding Asgard in space. I heard the move will need a huge space-ship but they’re already working on it so it’s all just a matter of time.”

When Steve’s face fall, he adds, “I can get you a free pass to visit if you want. Uncle Thor’s pretty generous and trusting. I’m sure when he sees you, he’ll adore you.” And it works like a miracle. It’s like lighting a Christmas tree up and yet, even more magical. Steve shakes his head, his lips still stretched wide in an unbelievable smile. “Of course you call Thor, uncle.” He laughs, like it’s a private joke.

 

Later, under the Iron Man’s statue, when Tony confesses that he’s maybe entertaining ideas on interning in New York and maybe, no promises there, he’ll take his time learning all about that AI and its story from grandma Morgan, Steve squeezes his arm and says, “I’m proud of you Tony.”

He blushes all the way to the ice cream stand where Steve gets him a coconut flavoured one lying that its vanilla and he dumps it over Steve’s head feeling no remorse.

 

 

A couple of days after that, Tony suggests Vegas to which Steve flatly declines “No.” and “What the hell are we – two under aged high school graduates – supposed to do there? Not to forget, you’re _16_ !”

Tony scratches his head. He should have washed his hair after the pool. “Vegas is not all gambling and partying, Steve.”

“I am still not going to Vegas, Tony.” Steve sings the same tone to him and shuts him up effectively.

But there’s a pout. A petulant one that Tony hates the appearance of but Steve has a surprising soft spot for.

“We can go for a walk?” Steve suggests half heartedly and Tony turns to glare at him. His lips tremble threateningly before he gives in and snorts a painful laughter.

“You’re a menace, Rogers.” Tony grumbles, perfecting the ‘I’m mad at you, kiss me better’ look with crossed arms across his chest and an annoyed huff. “A walk when the sky is threatening to dump an ocean on your stupid head.”

Steve chuckles, shifting in the sofa so he’s close enough to ruffle Tony’s chlorine-dried hair. The strands are coarse and rough but he doesn’t complaint or retract his fingers. “How about I bake you one of nana's recipes, hmm?” He hums lowly and Tony almost forgets what he’s acting angry for. Barely avoiding himself from nuzzling into Steve’s touch.

It’s really hard, it is. Each day, it’s a horrifying challenge to keep his hands and mouth to himself and he must really take a good vacation to congratulate himself after Steve goes home. But that’s another thing there. Steve going back isn’t exactly something he’s looking forward to and Steve _near_ him is terrifying so he’s utterly torn. Wanting and unable to give. God, if there was just any way he could cave in and get away with it-

“I want chocolate chips.” He exaggerates his petulant pout and Steve blinks. Blue eyes brilliant and accessing as he stares at Tony. It’s almost uncomfortably intense to the point where Tony wants to squirm but he stays put, leveling Steve’s stare with his own narrowed eyes, throat running dry by the second.

“I must warn about the lack of flour in the kitchen, Mr Rogers.” FRIDAY quips and the bubble bursts spectacularly.

“Huh.” Steve says, darting his attention immediately away from Tony as if burned and Tony sneaks in a large gulp of air, face burning. Fuck.

 

“I said chocolate chip.” Tony insists an hour later, cross-legged atop the kitchen counter as Steve pours a concoction into a baking bowl. It looks sticky and unappetizing but Steve says it will taste good once its done and Tony knows shit about baking so-

“I can't put chocolate chip in a pudding, Tony.” Steve rolls his eyes. Closing the oven door with a quite thud and blowing off his bang from his eyes, and there it is again. The incredible urge to wipe that stray hair away and hold it in place as Tony sucks on that full bottom lip.

“Mmmph.” He half-grunts, tearing the instant-pudding box apart to have something to do with his hands. He hears Steve chuckle, soft pads of footsteps growing closer and suddenly Steve’s in his personal space. Again.

“You’re littering.” He admonishes softly. Tony drops the torn box deliberately on the floor and Steve bends over with a huff, picking it up. His shirt stretches taut against his back and rides up a little over his lower back and Tony looks away, swallowing hard. The stretch of white skin burned into his brain.

Steve aims for the trash can, misses horrendously but FRIDAY helps by moving the can so he wins and Tony snorts, watching the entire mishap unfolding without missing a moment. “I win.” Steve sticks his tongue out and Tony snorts again, “Sure you did, big guy.” And there’s a bit of pale yellow flour under Steve’s right eye, just a little above his cheekbone which Tony reaches for reflexively. “You’re also messy.”

Steve lets him wipe it off, staying unusually silent as Tony tries and fails multiple times to clean his face, because the stupid flour simply spreads, and the more closer he looks the more tiny freckles of pale yellow he spots and Tony’s hand itches. “Hold on.” He murmurs, singularly focused. “There are more here.” He thumbs at the end of Steve’s jaw, where it meets his ear. “And here.” He uses his pinky to dust away some from Steve's philtrum “Your beard makes this a disaster” and he’s so absorbed in his task to ‘get Steve’s face rid of pudding flour’ that he doesn’t see how Steve’s on the edge of crumbling under his careful fingers.

He watches as Tony’s tongue sneaks a little between his parted lips each time his fingers caresses Steve's skin and each time, Steve's lungs prickle and his breath catches. Tony’s bent knee is poking at his hip, adding a delicious pressure and Steve tries hard to think of disgusting things so his blood doesn’t pool south. It’s a difficult task, considering how every time Tony opens his mouth, his warm breath licks his skin and oh god, they’re so close, if only Steve could kiss him-

“Am I interrupting?”

“Grandma!” Tony exclaims as Steve jerks a foot away. “Steve’s making me pudding. But he doesn’t want to put in chocolate chips.” Tony updates her, grinning widely as he holds onto Steve’s pinky, like he doesn’t want to let him go and it’s not really helping when Steve’s already burning red in his face, but Steve’s too weak to tug it away, leaving his little finger clasped tightly around Tony’s warm hand and concentrating on the floor as Tony argues about chocolate chips pudding with his grandmother.

 

 

There are three days left in Steve’s stay at grandma Morgan's.

One day they spend out in Manhattan City Park. Lounging with a poor re-enactment of their time at the lake where Tony tries to put in the final details to his latest design while Steve sketches. They can’t have Tony’s head on Steve’s lap without getting bad cramps at odd places from the tiny bench so they compensate at the penthouse where they marathon through The Hobbit trilogy.

At this point of time, the touching has grown from hair ruffling to hand holding to simple but shiver inducing caresses that Tony hopes beyond hopes that Steve will just somehow accidentally fall asleep and drop his head to where his mouth will perfectly fit against Tony’s. A very poor rendition of a kiss but a kiss nonetheless.

Sometimes he wants to grab Steve’s face, throw every single worry into nothing and kiss him smack. Make him feel how badly Tony had fallen for him. Make him feel how perfect they will fit. Because even if Tony hasn’t done that, even if there isn’t any prior evidences to highlight how perfect they’ll fit together, something tells him that they will. And that something is so certain in its belief that it has got him converting.

Other times, he wants to slap himself and wake up from the long dazed looks he’s been giving Steve. Splash his face with cold water as it burns in embarrassment when grandma Morgan clears her throat meaningfully at the dinner table and Tony knows that its directed at him because his jaw has been slacking while he watched how Steve’s fingers curled around the cutleries and cut into the steak.

“I’ll miss you.” Steve’s voice jolts him away from his thoughts, his hand a comforting weight cupping Tony's cheek. He has said that a few times now that Tony’s not too taken aback at it. The first time had been a good fluttery feeling in the stomach of course. Not that now it doesn’t feel the same but it’s more, subdued.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Tony replies, selfishly, burrowing his nose into the inside of Steve’s wrist. He wants to kiss it. Thinks over and over if he can kiss it, then abandons it.

“I’ll miss here, with you, being just like this.” Steve says with that intense look he’s been giving lately and Tony really wants to kiss.

When Steve continues, “I’ll miss you, 24/7, your stupid science talk and the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh”, Tony abandons all caution and does it. His heart thudding painfully with fear as he presses careful mouth over Steve’s skin on the inside of his wrist _._

 _Fuck,_  he thinks, when Steve pulls away his hand. But he’s carding his fingers through Tony’s limp ones on his stomach. Intertwining them and bringing it to his own mouth, his gaze unwavering on Tony’s wide brown eyes and when he presses a kiss to the back of Tony’s hand, his beard and stache prickling deliciously over Tony's skin,  Tony’s blood boils in his face that he thinks he’s going to either die of embarrassment or sheer nerves.

“I’ll miss you, Tony.” Steve murmurs against his skin and it’s too much at once all of a sudden. Tony hides his face behind his free hand, pressing as hard as he can to squish his nose and he doesn’t want to believe this but it’s really his reality.

Steve's chuckling as he watches Tony peeping from beneath his fingers and he presses another long kiss to the back of Tony’s hand, squeezing like he doesn’t want to let go and it’s okay. It’s okay because it’s all that Tony wants too.

 

When Tony kisses Steve, it’s half past one in the morning of August 30th, 2111 and the final Hobbit installment is humming black in the background.

At some point during the lazy caresses and tentative new touches, Tony has clambered onto Steve’s lap like he has always belonged there and Steve holds onto him like it’s the biblical truth. Steve’s got one hand on the small of Tony’s back, another at the side of his neck and Tony thinks he’s treading this too carefully and loses his patience.

He leans forward, his own hands clutching at Steve’s hair, holding his head like they’re Tony's very own point of gravity and he tips his head down as he tilts Steve’s head up and whispers, “I’m gonna kiss you,” as he closes the final space.

Steve’s lips are soft against his, chapped on a second thought, hidden under needles of coarse facial hair, and Tony’s done thinking, letting his body do all it wants. And all it wants now is Steve.

 

 

Steve’s second day in New York is spent blissfully with kiss chapped lips, plump and red and numb with that curious beard burn Tony has always wanted to wear.

They spend hours on the bed, taking full advantage of the fact that grandma Morgan is out of town for the day, to cuddle and make out. Each time, Tony’s hand wonders a little too low below the belt, Steve is quick to change its course of direction. Tony is not too gone to not realize what Steve's doing but he tries over and over just for the fun of it.

“You make my brain short-circuit.” He mumbles into one of their deep kiss. Steve’s fingers dig into his back and Tony loses control of his body, hips rolling lazily over Steve’s. He can very well feel Steve’s hard-on digging into his skin and he moans, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair and tugging gently.

Steve grunts, hips bucking upward but his mouth protests weakly “We can’t”, and Tony really wants pull his hair and demand why.

 _Why not when this is perfect_. _Why can’t we?_

_Are you scared? Because I’m not and I know you want this as much I do._

_“Steve. Please.”_

“Tony.” Steve shudders and Tony realises with no regrets that he’d said all those aloud. He bites onto Steve’s lower lip and tugs before letting go. Panting, “I do. I really want, Steve.”

When he leans back in, Steve tilts his head slightly so his lips lands on the corner of his mouth, which at this point, Tony really doesn’t mind. “I want too.” Steve whispers and Tony listens, but he keeps kissing, mouths at Steve’s jaw and rubs his cheek against Steve’s beard, nuzzling into the juncture of his jaw and ear and inhaling deeply. “But I want to do this right, Tony.” Steve gasps, his large hand running soothingly along Tony’s back, settling on his hips and holding him from rutting on Steve. “I want to bring you on dates.” He says. “I want to plan a special night, good food and great time and _then_ I want to take you to bed.” Tony shudders, whimpers when Steve bucks his hip up meaningfully, “I want to do this right for you, Tony,” and Steve flips him onto his back.

“Can’t we at least hand-job this?” Tony squirms, giggling when Steve nuzzles under his chin. His dick is painfully hard, demanding for every ounce of attention and the feel of Steve’s weight on him is not helping one bit. “Or even just-,” He bucks his hip up and feels Steve, “-This?” Steve's groan huffs into an exasperated laugh and Tony thinks he hears him swear. But when Steve resurfaces, he’s all mischievous glint and smug grin and Tony gasps, throwing his head back into the mattress, a desperate moan tearing out of him because the bastard just cupped his dick. “You mean, this?” He smiles. Smiles! How fucking dare he-

“Yes, this.” Tony sneaks one stealthy hand and grabs at Steve’s crotch in respond, enjoying the way Steve bites his lower lip and presses his forehead against Tony’s chest shuddering violently when Tony gives a gentle squeeze.

It’s easy from there on.

Kissing and biting and rutting with increasing urgency in search for a release. The air is pleasantly warm as the temperature is adjusted accordingly for their heated activity and Tony breathes and breathes in Steve, The way his cologne clouds his natural musk. The way he gasps when he’s close and the way he pulls Tony for an open mouthed kiss, swiping his tongue against his in a complete trance as he keeps their eyes locked. The way his hand clutches at Tony’s hip, another cupping his face with a firmness that wonderfully contradicts the gentleness and Tony falls and falls for him.

“I love you.” He chants, when he comes. “I love you, Tony. Oh, god.” Over and over like some kind of prayer and Tony drinks all those words. Savours the way Steve looks at him when he says them and he holds as tightly, kissing his nose and whispers back, “I love you too, baby” fervently. Coming with a surprised gasp when Steve slips his hand in, running past his throbbing dick, heavy balls and he presses a finger against Tony's hole.

 

By the time the night falls and Steve digs his chin sharply into Tony’s bed-head, they’re too tangled up and dizzy from each other’s company. Tony lets his fingers splay and close, repeating the motion lazily over Steve’s crumpled shirt. The fact that they didn’t even bother to change from their pajamas hits him and he laughs giddily, clutching and adding more crinkles to Steve’s t-shirt.

Steve doesn’t ask why he’s laughing, simply contributes a soft huff of humor of his own as he kisses Tony’s head under his chin. Unintentionally coaxing Tony to look up and give him an umpteenth kiss to his cherry-red lips. Tony moans from how sore his mouth and jaw feels, turns his face so his cheek is plastered against Steve’s lips and shifts downwards to nuzzle under Steve’s chin.

He breathes him in. Tries to code with decipherable terms, how Steve smells, how he feels, how he tastes, so Tony can remember when tomorrow comes and Steve leaves.

 

 

 

On the Steve’s final day in New York, Tony sees him to the airport. Hugs him tight like a koala and kisses him hard so Steve can never forget as he says his goodbye.

Tony lips burn and his hands feel empty. His skin feels colder and he feels awfully lonely as he waves a goodbye to Steve. Tony doesn’t cry because he wouldn’t. After all, there’s nothing to cry about because Tony knows with his heart, knows it like its been imprinted in his soul way before he was born, knows that Steve Rogers and Anthony Stark are always meant to be together.

Come autumn, Steve will be starting art school in New York while Tony got grandma Morgan to sign him up for an internship at the R&D department of the New York branch of Stark Enterprise. It’s long been his plan. To graduate high school and get some time off before accepting that seat MIT promised him. Maybe he'll go back to that workshop too. Maybe he'll learn about the AI, maybe he won't. Nothings certain, but it’s a draft, a work in progress and Tony will see it through. 

 

 

 


End file.
